White Whale
by eliasp
Summary: A new number takes the gang undercover: on a singles' cruise.
1. Chapter 1

"Finch, spill. You're freaking me out."

Finch simply fidgeted even more under Shaw's stern gaze, refusing to meet her eyes. Standing beside her, Root tilted her head to the side, worry furrowing her brow.

"What is it, Harry?" she pressed, far more gently than Sameen. "Going undercover isn't anything new for us."

Harold looked up pleadingly from his seat in the subway car at John, towering beside him with arms folded across his chest. John merely gave a quick shake of the head.

"I'm not telling them." Shaw's eyes narrowed at the faint smirk that twitched at the edge of his lips. She stood from her own seat across from Finch.

"Look, I don't have time for this. Give me the job or put me on something else."

"Afraid this one's a team effort, Shaw," John said before turning back to Harold. "Come on, Finch, just get it over with." With a sigh of resignation Harold closed his eyes.

"Very well. Our latest number is going to require us to leave the city for some time. All of us. Mr. Reese and myself will be serving as crew members aboard the _Pacifica Borealis_ , while Ms. Groves and yourself will be serving as guests."

Shaw raised an eyebrow. "A cruise ship?"

Finch hesitated, still refusing to meet her eyes. "A singles' cruise."

John didn't bother to hide the smirk that played across his face, and Shaw could hear the mirth in Root's voice as she placed a hand on Sameen's shoulder and quipped, "About time we ladies had some time together." She refused to entertain Root with so much as a glance.

Instead she scowled at Finch, who offered an apologetic smile. "Neither Mr. Reese nor myself are particularly believable as dashing young bachelors." Before Shaw could get in a cutting retort he quickly added, "But you will have separate rooms, of course, and I'm told the ship's buffet is exquisite."

Shaw narrowed her eyes, considering.

"What about the dog?"

"Our detective friends have assured us he's in good hands," Harold answered.

"He has always taken a liking to Carter," John added helpfully.

Root leaned down, her face annoying close to Shaw's. "Plus there's always the fun of getting to sneak your arsenal on board," she offered tantalizingly. Shaw simply rolled her eyes and stood, displacing the taller woman.

"Tell me more about this number," she said gruffly. Finch breathed a noticeable sigh of relief and turned back to his monitors, eager to have the conversation over with.

"Talia Hanover," he began. "Conwoman extraordinaire."

* * *

Root surveyed the cabin. It was quaint, considering that it was built for one, but the bed was queen-sized. Definitely not meant for spending time alone. She chuckled. "Optimistic, aren't we?" she said aloud. She spent some time surveying the rest of the room; pale blue wallpaper, very oceanic; a small balcony overlooking the bay—soon to be the ocean once they left port—a few dressers; the floor-length mirror set into the back of the door; and a small, white wooden nightstand beside the bed, decorated only with a salt lamp.

She ducked into the bathroom next, and couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face. The porcelain bathtub was surprisingly spacious, as was the entirely glass shower beside it. Apparently it was going to be that kind of party.

"It's too bad you boys are going to miss all the fun," she said into the comm system shared by the team. Finch quickly replied,

"Somehow I think we'll manage, Ms. Groves. I take it you've settled in all right?"

"I have," she drawled, moving to the sliding door overlooking the balcony. She stepped outside and glanced to the balcony directly to the right to find Shaw not four feet away, leaning on the railing, overlooking the bay. The usual scowl plastered on her face. "And it looks like Sameen is enjoying herself as well."

Shaw shot her a glare before joining the conversation.

"Thanks again for this, Finch," she said drily.

"I appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Shaw," Harold replied.

"Yeah, whatever. This buffet better be worth it." With that, she tapped her earpiece, exiting the discussion.

Root did the same. "You wanna tell me what's going on, Shaw?"

Sameen rolled her eyes, still looking out on the water. "With what?"

"You're hiding something." A smile crept across Root's face as Shaw shifted her weight just so. It was a small movement, involuntary, but not wasted on Root. She knew body language and she knew Shaw, and there was something the other woman wasn't telling. She'd had a feeling ever since Finch had explained the mission, but she couldn't place it; it was just a matter of dragging it out of Shaw.

"Yeah, I'm hiding something from everyone on this stupid tub. That I work for an all-seeing robot with a bunch of nerds." She shot Root a pointed look. Root returned a grin, letting the matter drop. For now.

"If I didn't know better, Sam, I'd think you didn't want to be here," she said in feigned shock. That was enough to elicit a snort from Shaw.

"Arienne," she corrected, reminding the hacker of her fake identity. "And yeah, can't say spending the week holed up with a bunch of rich losers just horny and desperate enough to pay to get laid at sea is an ideal use of my time." Her voice dripped with scorn, and there was something endearing about just how grumpy she was about the situation.

Root couldn't help herself.

"No need to be jealous, Ari, I'm sure you'll be able to find _someone_ on this tub who's willing to sleep with you." With a wink, she slipped back into her own room, leaving Shaw to roll her eyes at the bay once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Shaw had to admit, the ship was pretty nice. She'd spent the better part of the day getting oriented and helping Finch set up their surveillance equipment, and by the time dinner came around she found herself pretty comfortable with the layout. Unfortunately, playtime was over; dinner meant shifting back into her alias: Arienne Tousi, 35, trauma surgeon.

 _Who can resist a girl playing doctor?_ Root had taunted. _Not you, we know that much_ Shaw had fired back. Root had simply smiled that smug grin that crossed her face anytime she successfully got a rise out of Sameen.

Whatever. Shaw pushed the conversation out of mind as she entered the dining room, black clutch in hand. Table 36, that was her seat. What kind of mingling event assigned seats? Lame. She was sure her disdain for the whole arrangement was palpable. But she was on a job, so with a deep breath she swallowed her pride, put on her brightest Arienne Tousi smile, and pushed her way through the room. It took a few minutes of weaving her way through cocktail dresses and tuxedos to find the table, and unsurprisingly, Root was already there.

And so, apparently, was their number, with whom the hacker was already engaged in friendly conversation.

Root's back was to Shaw, but the number's eyes met hers as she approached the table. Shaw smiled in feigned nervousness.

"Mind if I join you ladies?"

"Please, have a seat!" the number beamed. Root turned over her shoulder to look at Shaw, and Shaw had to admit it was pretty satisfying to see the brief moment of desire flash across the hacker's face before she composed herself again. She could always count on Root for a good, albeit unintentional, ego boost. Shaw took a seat to Root's right, where her name marker indicated. She offered her hand to the number across the table.

"I'm Arienne," she smiled. The other woman returned both the smile and handshake.

"Talia," she introduced herself. Talia Hanover, 38, owner of an esteemed Napa Valley vineyard purchased with less legally-acquired funds, was a short, slender woman with piercing green eyes that stood out against her dark skin. Her hair was black and incredibly curly, currently struggling against the hairband holding it back in a ponytail. She was cute enough, Shaw decided. Her initial instinct was to assume Talia was most likely their victim—she didn't come across as the homicidal type.

Then, having to keep up appearances, Shaw turned to Root. "And you are?"

"Lydia," Root smiled pleasantly. Lydia Donovan, 30-something, daughter of one hotel mogul or another. Shaw hadn't paid much attention to any of the covers beside her own, honestly. When undercover as strangers, the less they knew, the better.

"Pleased to meet you both," Shaw smiled disarmingly. Root refused to let her eyes linger on Shaw for any amount of time, the latter noticed gleefully. Someone was flustered.

"Lydia and I were just getting to know each other!" Talia chirped. "Where are you from, Arienne, what do you do?" The interest seemed genuine, and Shaw obliged her with Arienne's history. The three women made polite conversation, and gradually the other seats at their table filled up: three men who might as well have been clones for all Shaw could tell. They were rich, mediocre looking, and incredibly boring.

She eventually managed to disentangle herself from a conversation with the one beside her—although conversation was a loose term, as she'd barely said a word in 20 minutes and this guy loved to hear himself talk—to spare a glance at Root beside her. The brunette was engaged in conversation with the man seated to her left. Her elbow was perched on the table, her cheek in her hand, and her laughter ringing out every few seconds. Shaw's felt a twinge in her stomach at the sight—she'd elicited the same laugh on many an occasion—but then she caught sight of Root's other hand, under the table, fingers drumming impatiently on the edge of her seat.

It was reassuring to know she wasn't the only one suffering through the meal.

* * *

"I gotta hand it to you, Finch, you weren't wrong about the catering. Whatever that chocolate thing you boys served us for desert turned me on."

Shaw kicked off her heels—god, she hated heels—quickly shrugged out of the close-fitting black dinner dress, and flung herself back on the bed. She had to admit, her quarters on the ship weren't bad at all.

"Thank you, Ms. Shaw, for that…unnecessary bit of information," Harold's voice, clearly uncomfortable, came through her earpiece. "You and Ms. Groves are off duty for the rest of the evening; John and I will keep an eye on Talia."

"You're the boss." With that, Shaw removed her earpiece and placed it on the night stand beside her.

She closed her eyes, arms folded behind her head, and settled into the pillows. The thought that she should unpack or shower or give her weapons a thorough cleaning did cross her mind, but as the drowsiness took over she resolved that those were all things that could wait till the morning.

* * *

A knock at the door roused Shaw from her sleepy state. She glanced down at the watch on her wrist—she'd only been dozing for about twenty minutes. She rolled off the bed and made her way to the door, standing on tippy-toes to look through the peephole.

"Oh, jesus," she muttered before steeling herself and opening the door halfway. Her suitor from dinner stood on the other side of the threshold, bottle of wine in one hand and two empty glasses in the other.

"Remember me?" he asked cheekily. Shaw mustered her best fake smile and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"How could I forget?" With her other hand, the one concealed behind the door, she reached for the clutch on the dresser, where she'd concealed her handgun. It was just out of reach. Shit. "How, uh, how did you find me?"

"I have to confess, it wasn't easy. I had to pay off some crew members in order to sneak a peek at the passenger manifesto, but you—" he pointed to her, wine bottle still in hand. "I had a feeling you would be worth it." His eyes wandered down her body and lingered a little too long, and with a flush of embarrassment Shaw realized that she'd answered the door in nothing but bra and underwear.

Her companion's eyes glinted hungrily with something that was definitely the wrong idea. Goddammit. Before she could come up with an excuse to leave the poor fool in the hall, there was a shuffling in the room behind her. She whipped around to find Root coming up behind her. She shot Shaw a wink before making herself visible to their friend in the hall.

"Ari, are you coming—oh, hello," she smiled at him disarmingly. His eyes widened hopefully, and both women could see the gears turning in his head.

Root ran her hands lightly down Shaw's biceps, purred " _So_ nice of you to order room service," and in one fluid motion stepped forward, extracted both wine bottle and glasses from their unwelcome visitor's hands, offered him a charming "thank you" and shut the door in his face.

Shaw stared at her a moment, not bothering to hide her admiration.

"That was smooth."

Root grinned, already opening the wine. She glanced down at Shaw's ensemble: a black bra and matching briefs. "It's a good look, Sam. I'll say this for our friend, he has good taste." She poured Shaw a glass, which the latter gratefully accepted.

"I'm not arguing," Shaw replied coolly. "Just like I shouldn't be surprised that you were listening in and snuck into my _private_ room."

Root took a sip from her own glass. "What can I say?" she drawled, moving closer to back Shaw up against the door. "I'm the jealous type." Her eyes were bright as she raised her glass to Shaw's. "Cheers to finally getting a much-needed ladies' night."

"I'll drink to that." Shaw clinked her glass to Root's before downing her drink in one gulp, snaking an arm up around Root's neck, and pulling her into a kiss. Root was warm and soft and smelled like pine needles—Shaw never knew how, but there was a comforting familiarity in it. The aliases changed every day, and the costumes along with them, but they always smelled like Root.

Shaw heard Root set her glass down on the dresser, and moments later felt slender hands settle on her waist, pulling her closer. A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. There was something alluring about Root's complete inability to resist her. She was always pulling Shaw close, bringing their bodies flush together, refusing to let any space linger between them. Shaw pulled back from the kiss and sure enough, Root followed, eager to close the distance.

Shaw only leaned back further until her head hit the door. Root narrowed her eyes.

"Sameen…" her voice was low, guttural, bordering on a whine. It was hot, Shaw had long since discovered, how quickly the former killer and con artist's smug bravado faded away when they were alone together. How earnestly Root longed for her, needed her.

This time when Root leaned in, Shaw met her with equal intensity. Lips crashed together and Root's tongue slipped into her mouth and god, was that woman good with her tongue. Shaw had just reached around to unzip Root's dress when the taller woman broke contact. Shaw gazed up at her, puzzled. Root was staring just over her head, struggling to catch her breath.

"Copy that, Harry. We're on it."

Shaw let her head fall back against the door once again. Of course.

"Duty calls," Root said ruefully, shifting her eyes to Shaw's. "Number's in the casino with John, and someone else is playing hide and seek in her room. We get to go pay a visit."

Shaw sighed heavily. "Finch has truly impeccable timing, y'know that?"


End file.
